Carnival of Mayhem (Gray Spear Society)

by Siegel, Alex

  The interior of the home was so crowded that Aaron had to walk sideways. Books occupied half of the front room. They were stacked floor to ceiling in thick pillars with the titles facing outwards. A single chair and a floor lamp stood in the center of the library.

  Glass display cases occupied much of the other half of the room. Aaron walked over to one case and examined its contents. Small chunks of rock, metal, and crystal were placed on glass shelves. The pieces were arranged neatly, like precious gems, and the case had a large padlock. The glass was thick and laminated.

  "That's my collection of alien artifacts," Stan said.

  "Really?" Aaron said. The "artifacts" looked like garbage to him, although some of the crystals were unusual.

  "An associate in Arizona supplies them to me."

  "Where does he get them?"

  Stan shrugged. "I don't ask. He doesn't tell. That's the arrangement."

  Typical, Aaron thought. "I understand. We have to take precautions with the government watching all the time."

  "You know it. Just yesterday I saw a black helicopter in the sky. Hey, do you want to see something?"

  "Sure."

  Stan led them into another room where racks of incandescent lamps illuminated a table. It was so bright Aaron had to shade his eyes. The air was at least ten degrees warmer and smelled like a swamp. He counted twenty fish tanks on a large table. Each contained a few inches of water with netting above. Tomato plants were growing on the nets, their roots dangling in the water.

  "This is my hydroponic garden," Stan said.

  "What's it for?" Marina asked.

  "After the war, when the skies are filled with ash, there won't be enough sunlight for regular farming. We'll need this technology to survive."

  "Oh!" She nodded. "That's really smart."

  "Thanks." He put his palm on the butt of his revolver and looked at her with a suspicious expression.

  "This place is great," Aaron said. "Is there anything else we can see?"

  "Later," Stan said. "Why did you come here?"

  "We have questions. You might be the only guy on the planet who can answer them."

  Stan stood up straighter. "Go on."

  "We read your book..."

  "How? It's been out of print for a decade."

  "We found it in a used book store," Aaron said. "I think destiny placed it in our hands."

  "Did you like it?"

  "It was a revelation. In your book you talk about the three crowns of the Apocalypse."

  "That's right." Stan smiled for the first time. "The first is the passage of the cosmic giant."

  "Comet McNaught in January, 2007."

  "Yes! Exactly! I wrote that in my blog."

  Which is why I mentioned it, Aaron thought. "And the second is the unmasking of the queen of lies."

  "Mary Sarandon."

  "Obviously. Anybody with a clue can see that. The third crown is why we came here. You called it the 'unnatural plague.' I believe I know what it is, and it's happening in your own back yard!"

  "What?"

  "The tuberculosis outbreak," Aaron said in the most ominous tone he could manage. "Have you been over there? The feds turned Saint Athanasius into a maximum security fortress. The whole thing smells like a giant cover-up."

  Stan's eyes opened wide. "You're right! The third crown! I thought I would never live to see it." He rubbed his hands together and grinned.

  Aaron put a hand on Stan's shoulder. "I'm glad you agree. Finally, somebody else who understands! What have you heard about this disease? We want the truth. It could be a matter of life or death for the whole world."

  "I don't know anything." Stan shrugged. "I saw the reports on the news but the media always lies. I'll have to look through my books. I'll check Nostradamus first."

  "You meet people, right? Have you heard rumors? This is huge. Everybody must be talking about it."

  Stan frowned. "I don't get into town much these days. The cops..."

  "We both know how important this is. The third crown! We have to prepare for the end. Think, man! Who should we talk to?"

  "Well, if you're looking for rumors... Never mind. She's completely unreliable."

  "Who?" Aaron said.

  "Madame Shen. She's the queen of idiotic gossip in Naperville. She hears about absolutely everything."

  "Then we should meet her. Where is she?"

  "Madame Shen's beauty salon," Stan said, "but she won't see you. She never talks to strangers."

  "I'm sure she'll make an exception for us," Marina said. "Thanks. If we learn anything useful, we'll get right back to you. You're a life saver."

  * * *

  Smythe dialed the number on the gray business card using a payphone in a gas station. Gum was stuck to the handset, so he had to hold it by the end. He stared at a pile of dried chewing tobacco in the corner so none of the customers would see his face.

  "Hello?" Ethel said. Her voice was calm, a stark contrast to Smythe's distressed emotional state.

  "This is Timothy Smythe."

  "You're all over the news! Infamous murderer and desperate fugitive from justice."

  "I didn't kill Woods," Smythe said through clenched teeth. "It was an accident."

  "That's irrelevant."

  "You ruined my life."

  "It wasn't me," Ethel said. "You chose to pursue Woods instead of letting the proper authorities deal with him. You made it a personal mission. You became so obsessed you lost perspective."

  He squeezed the phone so hard it hurt his hand.

  "I've read the reports on you," she said, "and this behavior is typical. Instead of following the rules as written, you follow the rules in your head."

  "I..." He took a breath. "I did what I had to do."

  "That's my point. You don't have to explain why you called. I'm your absolute last chance. Nobody else will help you in this situation. Even so, you're having second thoughts about this phone call. You're not sure if joining my team is better than life in prison, and you're questioning your own sanity. You still don't believe what happened last night."

  He closed his eyes. She had seen straight through him.

  "Have you slept?" she asked. "You must be exhausted."

  "I am." He was running on fumes.

  "Hold on." She was silent for a long moment. "It looks like you're calling from an Ultra Fast Gas in Oswego. We have a safe house in the area. Do you want to use it?"

  "Sounds like a trap."

  "You are paranoid. I like that! When you arrive at the house, don't just go in. There is a security system that will fry you if you don't follow my instructions."

  "Uh..."

  "Pay close attention," she said. "Here is the address..."

  * * *

  Smythe turned into the driveway of a yellow, two-story house. Ethel had explained that the top story was a separate apartment, and that was his destination. He drove around the house and parked in a garage in back.

  He looked around carefully before getting out of the car. The only movement was the fluttering of fallen leaves on the ground. The quiet made him suspicious.

  He stepped out of his warm car into the chilly, evening air. The shock of sudden cold failed to make him less drowsy. If he didn't sleep soon, he would collapse.

  An exterior staircase led directly up to a door on the second floor. The staircase creaked under his weight as he slowly climbed. Ethel had told him emphatically not to touch the wooden railings. They were painted white and appeared ordinary enough, but he didn't want to take any chances. He kept his hands in his pockets.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he looked under the welcome mat and found a gold colored key. He examined the deadbolt lock critically. Instead of putting the key in, he pressed against the lock with the palm of his hand. Nothing happened at first, so he leaned into it. Suddenly, the lock released and slid half an inch into the door. That actually worked, he thought. Amazing.

  Now he used the key. He turned it clockwise exactly one half
turn, then counter-clockwise one full turn. The lock clicked softly like the dial on a safe.

  He took a deep breath. The moment of truth. He grabbed the door handle and opened the door. Ten thousand volts didn't electrocute him, and neither did a shotgun blast him. His trust in Ethel went up one tiny notch.

  He entered the apartment. There was a green couch with overstuffed pillows, facing an antiquated television. Open doors led to three other rooms: a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. The place was small.

  A portable phone was on top of the television, and he used it to call Ethel.

  "I'm in," he said.

  "I know," she said. "The security system told us. What do you think?"

  "It's better than sleeping in an alley," he muttered. He still wasn't excited about staying here.

  "You're welcome. The kitchen is stocked with bottled water, soda, and canned goods. There are no perishables, of course, but you can make a meal. Go into the bedroom and look in the closet."

  He went into the bedroom, which had a queen sized bed. He opened the door of the large closet and found it filled with clothes, both men's and women's.

  "What are the clothes for?" he said.

  "For you. Take what you need. I expect you could use a fresh outfit."

  "That's an understatement."

  "There is a false wall at the back of the closet," she said. "Feel around for two latches at chest height on the left and right sides. It's important to press both latches at exactly the same time."

  He ran his fingers along the back wall until he found two square depressions. They were practically invisible to the naked eye. He pressed both at once, heard a click, and suddenly, the wall slid upwards.

  He stepped into an unfinished room beyond. The angled ceiling and exposed beams indicated it was part of the attic.

  There were two tall bookcases. The one in front of him held fake beards, mustaches, eye glasses, wigs, makeup, and other disguise components. I can look like anybody with this stuff, he thought.

  The bookcase on his left was the armory. There were guns ranging from dainty .22 caliber pistols to .44 magnum revolvers that could "blow a man's head clean off." Boxes of bullets were placed next to each gun. A crate of fragmentation grenades sat on the floor.

  "I like the weapons," Smythe said into the phone.

  "Take what you need," Ethel said.

  There was a footlocker to his right. He opened it and discovered that it was packed full of cash. "Whoa!"

  "Sounds like you found the money."

  "How much is here?"

  "A hundred thousand dollars," she said. "Used bills."

  "Are you trying to bribe me?"

  "Do you need to be bribed?"

  Even though his brain was running on one cylinder, he could tell it was a loaded question. Was she testing his integrity? What would happen if he gave the wrong answer?

  "I have another question first," he said. "Is the security system in this apartment active now?"

  "Very much so," she said.

  "I didn't see any wires or sensors."

  "Trust me. Nobody is getting in, not alive at least. And if an enemy did manage to penetrate the perimeter defenses, I can incinerate the entire apartment in five seconds. I just have to press a button."

  "I see." He swallowed. "In that case I don't need a bribe because I don't want to die."

  She chuckled. "Very good! You continue to impress me, Dr. Smythe. You'll be a fine addition to the team. Here are your orders."

  "Wait. Since when do I take your orders?"

  "I'm your commander now. Get used to it because it will be that way for a long time. Stay in that apartment. Sleep, eat, and recuperate for as long as you like, but don't leave. When you're ready to face the world again, call me."

  "What if I run?" he asked. "With all this money, I could escape to Mexico. I know a little Spanish."

  She paused. "You wouldn't escape for long. We're a global organization with almost limitless money and influence, while you're just one man. So, think about the important choices you need to make. You stand at a crossroads. One path leads to a productive and exciting life spent serving God."

  "And the other path leads to prison?"

  "No. The other path leads to death, for the Lord does not forgive those who ignore His call to service, and neither do I. Sleep well."

  Chapter Eight

  Marina looked up at the sign for "Madame Shen's Beauty Salon." It had been years since she had visited a salon. She didn't like strangers touching her hair, and as far as she was concerned, only Yvonne back at headquarters knew the right way to cut it.

  Marina sighed. The sacrifices I make for the mission. She went inside.

  A thick haze of incense made her want to step back outside and get another breath of fresh air. Beaded curtains hung everywhere, each with a different abstract pattern made of white crystals sewn into it. Prisms in front of the windows added rainbows to a room with too many sparkles. She already hated this place.

  A girl with purple hair and a pierced cheek sat behind a desk. She seemed to be a receptionist, so Marina approached her.

  "Hi," Marina said. "I'd like to see Madame Shen."

  "Do you have an appointment?"

  "I was hoping she could squeeze me in."

  The girl smirked. "That's not possible."

  "Then when can I see her?"

  The girl didn't even look down at her appointment book. "Madame Shen only sees her good friends with compatible auras."

  "Wait. Are you telling me she won't cut a new client's hair?"

  "She does not cut hair; she sculpts hair. If you want any of our other talented stylists to serve you, I'm sure I can find an opening."

  "No." Marina shook her head. "Only Madame Shen."

  "Sorry." The girl shrugged.

  "There must be a way."

  "I could put you on the waiting list."

  "Waiting list for what?"

  "To have your aura certified, of course." The girl smiled. "It's another service we offer."

  "That's ridiculous." Marina rolled her eyes.

  The girl shrugged again. Marina fantasized about breaking her scrawny neck.

  "OK," Marina said. "Forget about me. Who is Madame Shen seeing next?"

  "Hmm." The girl ran her finger across the appointment book. "Mrs. Tiemann, but..."

  "I'll wait."

  Marina sat on a chair and inhaled incense smoke for half an hour. When an old lady in a pink coat entered the salon, the girl glanced at Marina nervously. This must be her.

  Marina stood up and smiled. "Mrs. Tiemann?"

  "Yes?" Mrs. Tiemann wore glasses with hot pink frames.

  "I need to see Madame Shen right now."

  "But my appointment is now."

  "Yes." Marina nodded. "I'll take your place. I also want you to introduce me to Madame Shen. Pretend I'm an old and trusted friend."

  Mrs. Tiemann shook her head. "You're crazy."

  Marina reached into her purse and took out a roll of hundred dollar bills. She began to peel them off. "One hundred... two hundred... three hundred... four hundred..."

  Mrs. Tiemann's eyes opened wide.

  Marina placed five hundred dollars in her wrinkled hand. "Enough to pay for a fancy salon on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. Am I still crazy?"

  "But..."

  Marina gave her another two hundred dollars. "And a pedicure."

  Mrs. Tiemann stared at the money.

  "If you don't want it," Marina said, "give it back."

  "Make it an even grand."

  Marina handed over three more bills with a smile. "Done. Let's go in."

  The receptionist opened her mouth to protest, but Mrs. Tiemann shot her down with a glare.

  Mrs. Tiemann led Marina past the beaded curtains, which divided the salon into separate spaces. Each space contained a sink and a single chair, and nearly all of them were occupied by other customers and stylists.

  They went to a door at the back of the salon.

&
nbsp; Mrs. Tiemann knocked politely. "Madame Shen? May I come in? It's Mrs. Tiemann."

  "Come in," a soft, female voice said.

  Mrs. Tiemann opened the door and Marina followed her in.

  The number of crystals in the room astonished Marina. They carpeted the walls. Every time she moved, a thousand facets glittered in all the colors of the rainbow. Concealed fixtures provided the light, and it was like walking into a giant geode.

  A large frame made of copper bars and shaped like a pyramid occupied the center of the room. A woman, presumably Madame Shen, stood at the exact center of the pyramid. She wore a pure white shawl and robes, which covered everything but her face and hands. Marina had expected an Asian because of the name, but Madame Shen had white skin.

  "Who is this?" she asked, looking at Marina.

  "A good friend," Mrs. Tiemann said. "She really wants to experience your special gift."

  "You know the rules. No strangers."

  "Please. I'll let her have my appointment."

  Madame Shen frowned.

  Marina stepped forward and put out her hand. "Hi! I'm Moon Kitten. It's a great honor to meet you. I've heard so many good things."

  Shen stared at the hand as if it were diseased. "Moon Kitten, my aura is very sensitive. The slightest disturbance could unbalance its perfect harmony. I have to avoid unnecessary touching."

  "Sorry." Marina stepped back.

  "Rules are rules. I must interview every client before I can work with her, and trading appointments is forbidden. I can't make exceptions."

  Marina put her hands together. "I'm from out of town and today is my only chance to see you. It would be the highlight of my life. I'll pay double."

  "Double?" Shen raised her eyebrows.

  "Make it triple, in cash." Marina took out her roll of hundred dollar bills. "And I won't need a receipt."

  "Oh. Well, I suppose one, small exception won't hurt. It will be our secret. Mrs. Tiemann, please leave us. I must work now. The sacred spirit is rising within me."

  Mrs. Tiemann hurried out of the room and closed the door.

  Shen pushed a salon chair to the center of the pyramid. It glided silently on rollers across the tile floor. "Sit."

  Marina sat in the chair, which was covered with a sheep skin that she didn't find very comfortable. Shen walked around the chair and examined her with a critical eye.